Spartacus: House of Ashur

The past stands not who I am.

When will Crassus bless us with fucking presence?

News only just reached ear of your man's injuries.

And I shall storm Olympus to see you satisfied.

Word upon breeze has caressed ear

of the finest Egyptian linens arriving tomorrow.

- Seize them - Viridia

You are safe now.

Cilicians.

It is well known that you desire entry to approaching games.

I shall see you well positioned.

We have gained position in the games of the Ludi Apollinares

We shall see the Brothers Ferox to fucking grass

by the hands of the goddess of fucking death.

Caesar.

Place abomination in darkest corner, far from fucking sight.

Noble wife need not trouble herself

with such base matter of the household.

Cornelia counsels her own desires,

as her father before her.

And she prefers house fit for Roman habitation.

All beneath my roof stand at your command.

I expect no less.

Apologies.

I would break words in private regarding pressing concerns.

Very well.

Let us discover wine upon the way

to better soften sharp conversation.

You-

what title do you hold in this house of shit?

I stand vilica of the House of Ashur

and personal body slave to its dominus.

Position of vilica stands less refined than in Rome,

yet I suppose one must make do.

- Yes, Domina. - Prepare bath,

so I may cleanse the stench of this house from body

in advance of it gaining permanent residence.

Ah

Oh, at least your wine doesn't taste of piss.

Only the finest offering in Capua were secured

in expectation Crassus himself would materialize.

I had thought of broaching subject towards

rebuilding the old arena-

The man remains encamped outside the gates of Rome

with his army, countering that of Pompey,

with thoughts far removed from Capua,

its citizens of slight concern.

Your presence holds equal value.

- Equal? - Uh-

more so, in many regards.

And honored arrival breaks upon heels of glorious news.

I have gained position in the upcoming games

of the Ludi Apollinares, hosted by Senator Gabinius himself.

Was such bounty presented in return for repelling

Cilician attack against beloved wife and daughter?

How has this word reached you so swiftly?

Did you truly hold the gods would smile

upon one as base as you,

absent guided hand beyond whim of divinity?

The Cilicians.

They stood your men?

Draped in manner and form plaguing the Republic.

Message placed you to retrieve freight

at appointed time and place.

Then whisper set upon gentle breeze

swept Cossutia and Viridia upon like hour.

Your men nearly had my fucking life.

Yet, here you stand.

And the will of Marcus Crassus well executed

towards securing the gratitude of good Gabinius.

Crassus...

set plot in motion?

If mind had been clever, you would have ingratiated self,

absent need of intervention.

Thankfully, a keener wit has now arrived to mold situation

- towards advantage. - What goal fixes upon intent?

Gabinius must be swayed in opposition of Pompey

towards your patron, Crassus.

And the man before you, of course.

Gabinius is mired in tradition

and not easily moved beyond rooted position.

By your tongue, no. I will break word with the man.

Take flight; secure an invitation.

Your will.

My hands.

Attend!

The games of the Ludi Apollinares fast approaches.

I would see you all blessed to position of victory,

honoring this house.

And who stands for the arena, Doctore?

You are chosen, Tarchon, paired with vaunted father.

Erato, Ephesius,

Dominus sees you to reward as well.

Achillia,

you are to be presented as champion of the House of Ashur.

You honor me, Doctore.

I but cast you to wolves.

Celadus, Tarchon, fall to my side.

Let us stand reflection of the Brothers Ferox...

and set Achillia to purpose.

Foul aroma permeates villa.

Born of failure and death,

mingled with cuisine of foreign origin.

Our presence a sacrifice, towards promised glory.

You've set the Syrian upon path?

Like mule upon road,

carrying burden unfit for human form.

How gauge you his men?

They do not all stand so firm of attribute.

He trains a woman?

Ambitions soar beyond training.

He presents her as champion of this fucking house.

Visit to Capua presents unexpected delights.

You see me to disadvantage.

I was told Crassus himself would grace our city.

Apologies- assumption made in error.

Yet know in absence I stand his voice and will.

Oh. A title I thought laid claim by the Syrian.

It stands so,

when Caesar finds himself removed from Capua.

Hmm.

And what word carries from Rome?

Crassus seeks to erect a bridge,

spanning chasm between himself and noble senator.

My favor lies with Pompey.

A position widely known.

Yet was it Pompey the gods dispatched

when cherished wife and daughter were set upon

by the Cilician shits the Syrian informs me of?

It was not.

Yet I have recently petitioned Pompey

to remove himself from Rome

and quell fucking plague ravishing the Republic.

You would see him unmoored from his army

- beyond the gates of Rome? -

The man remains firmly tethered, unmoved by reason or duty.

Perhaps he would be spurred by appearance

of shifting loyalties.

He speaks for you or for Crassus?

In this, we are as one.

And how would such make itself known?

By the games of Ludi Apollinares.

I do not follow meaning.

If they were presented by Gabinius and Caesar,

surely word would reach Pompey's ear,

perhaps unseat him from his distant perch.

And...

coin towards venture?

Shared, should minor concession find agreement.

Give it voice.

Elevate Crassus' champion to the position of primus.

You mean the Syrian's champion?

Just so.

He has procured offerings of most unusual form,

certain to inflame the passions of the crowd.

And contest revisited with the Brothers Ferox

would see flames further ignited.

An alluring offer-

one I would see agreed upon.

There is but one concern left unaddressed-

the cena libera on the eve of the games,

a clutch of days hence.

Esteemed wife already sets to purpose in preparation of villa

- towards celebration. - Gratitude towards effort.

Yet I stand

apparition within Capua,

seldom of corporeal form within its walls.

You would honor me to see the cena libera held in my villa,

graciously borrowed from the Syrian for the duration of stay.

Coin to fall from your purse towards endeavor?

Crassus himself offers aid.

A sum of little note,

for one so blessed.

Hm.

Then let us see it so.

And bonds strengthened towards common cause of the Republic.

At last, words pierce fucking skull.

Speed is your ally.

The Brothers Ferox cannot kill what cannot be struck.

Again.

Glorious news- by artful maneuvering,

mighty Caesar

gains us fucking primus!

Break for midday meal and return to your training.

Ha ha!

It shall be a glorious spectacle,

to witness aged Gabinius' reaction

as a woman claims honored position upon the sands.

I do not hold trust in that fucking shit.

Nor I.

Yet Crassus embraces him, and we must follow...

for the moment.

She does not deserve to stand champion.

Nor has she earned position in fucking primus.

She...